


Hiraeth

by pierrerror



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alot of pretentious bs, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood, F/F, Injury, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Survivor Guilt, Violence, minecraft personas ONLY
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierrerror/pseuds/pierrerror
Summary: Hiraeth; (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
Relationships: Docm77/Grian
Comments: 54
Kudos: 207





	1. Rubatosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RUBATOSIS "THE UNSETTLING AWARENESS OF YOUR OWN HEARTBEAT."

The single, positive thing about a zombie apocalypse is there isn't any ‘maybe’s’ or ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’, because you’ve either become a mindless zombie or not. There isn’t any, “I was grazed, does that count?” or any technicalities, you’re either green the next morning or not. And your friend can’t argue when you’re reaching out to eat their brains as they shoot you.

Is it bad what motivates him? That's what Grian thinks each morning. Well, more or less morning. Zombies don’t have a night and day cycle so neither does he. So every time he wakes up and isn’t a slobbering mess of mass and hunger, it's a win for him.

Looking at his reopened wound- blood dampening his clothes like water through the cracks of rocks- maybe that's what it was, a relief- water to save him, or maybe drown?  
It feels like he's drowning, trying to keep his head over water with ridiculous thoughts. He took a deep sigh, that's all he can do as water fills his cave. The wound isn’t zombie infected though, such the thought process- it even hurts remembering how he got it, a week, jumping over a fence in panic he didn’t look what was on the other side. Things like a large metal pole grazing his skin in the worst possible ways.

He winced, blood staining his fingers through holding onto his wound, painting his normally peach skin a deep red spreading throughout all the crevices of his fingers- wasting into the deepest part of his hands to remind him of his faults, onto his mistakes.

He’s so tired.

But he presses on, onto his wound and onto his consciousness, with an uncertain breath, Grian leaned his head onto the rumbling door- moans of a horde locked away behind it. They know he’s there, he reeks of human- his blood sneaking away from him, the iron of it attracting them as a moth to a flame- as the hungry to flesh.

He shouldn’t have listened, black hair and a panicked look. His friend screamed at him to run, throat graven from the screech. From Grian staying there shocked, from the traitor. He should have stayed and died with them, a week later he is dying anyway.

No, they aren’t dead. His friends, they’re strong, they’re resilient, he was the weak one. If he could make it, all of them together could too.

Grian coughed, feeling a liquid flow down his lips a wobbly breath accompanied, blood flowing down his lips as if he was poisoned, blood mixing with tears, snot, death. The stores light flashed in and out, like a heartbeat of a dying man, an occasional flash then gone- and the cycle repeats. Grian blinked in between the lights, sensing a darkness incoming.

He closed his eyes, as iron continued thirsting out of his veins. He’s just so tired, maybe if his thoughts were occupied it will lessen the pain? Thinking about the day before- he tried to retrace his journey, where did it go all wrong? How did he end up here? In his own personal circle of hell.

The sun woke up, and so did he- the rays forcing him awake as they glared onto his eyelids, the sun wasn’t pleasant these days. Even on cloudless days with the greenest grass- it was angry. The climate, the setting, the earth was angry and he understood this from the moment he woke and he felt the same.  
He woke up between a rock and a hard place- a rotting corpse and trash bags. But after a while you get used to sleeping conditions like this. To the smell, the fact of an actual corpse. Before this he only once saw a dead body, back when his great grandma died- and he didn’t have the guts to go up to the body. But now, death is violent, its angry, just like the world. And he slowly understands its fury, and feels it too- the vexation, exhaustion, the solemn state of the world. His own slowly starts to mirror it and the longer he is alone- the more he disintegrates.

And yet here he is, the corpse masks his smell- and so do the trash bags, the trash bags are also soft. Who needs pillows? (he does, he misses his bed).

But, he may be used to sleeping next to a corpse, he isn’t used to a live one staring at him with its white dead eye when he wakes up. Spit flailing from a half rotten lip, feeling and smelling that he is there, that's something is there, maybe something is turning in its deadhead.  
Grian bites his tongue as a bit of sloppy spit falls on his face, his eyes close shut to not let it touch anything else. He was asleep too long, sweat or fear began to creep out between the decaying corpse and trash smell.

Opening his eyes just a peep, the zombie was still there, getting closer, nostrils flaring trying to detect his food, finding his meal for the minute. He’s hungry and Grian would love to help out but y’know. It grew near, and on instinct Grian softly moved his head back, his heart in his stomach. Oh how quickly everything can go wrong, after years of surviving this mayhem, Grian can still just as easily died from oversleeping- nothing changed from the start.

Seemingly, not found anything- it stood back up, wobbling away with a limp. Grian waited for a few, time ticking to something, and when the timer reached zero; Grian launched himself out of those trash bags. Using a sleeve to wipe his face, he grabbed his backpack he stored in the corner further in the alleyway- using one he threw it onto arm, using his shoulder to adjust and his hand from one side and used the other hand to grab onto the ladder to the fire escape of the apartment buildings the alleyway belonged to.

Landing onto the first rattly floor of the escape, he properly adjusted his backpack for both shoulders. He really doesn’t know where he’s going but its better not to stay for one place for long.

He missed being part of a group.

Stopping himself as he realised his thinking, Grian shook his head, then continued running up the stairs. He’s wasting time, let bygones be bygones, him being alone is temporary, he’ll find them again. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to find them if he just stayed with them, he should have got someone else to run, anyone but him would know what to do, anyone else would already have the solution, why was he the one that got out?

No, no time for those thoughts. More pressing matters.

His goal right now is the roof as he trundled up the fire escape, the roof will give him an advantage point, the buildings are close enough he can- huh.

He spotted an open window, right before him, just open for the world to come in. That's, incredibly lucky for him. Early on he learned that forcing a window open, jimmying it or even blunt forcing it always makes too much noise for anyone- an instant attention asker. So an open window is a rare miracle asking to be explored.

One leg in, then the other- the home intruder ducks under the glass. He sniffs the air- no decaying flesh, (that isn’t coming from him). He mentally kicked himself, if he knew this window was open then he could have slept here. Wouldn’t have to wake up to that nasty encounter.  
Carefully placing one foot before the other he tried to avoid any creaking- the apartment under could contain a horde, who knows, noticing the front door close by. He set his sights on it; he needs to check if it's locked or not….. Holy shit are those fucking cheetos.

Wait, holy shit- everyone shut the fuck up. His mind HIGHLY distracted from the proper safety procedures and looked at the bright orange bag, a contrast from the surrounding grim and dark. When was the last time he had cheetos? Are they expired? They must be - but also they are like ninety percent artificial, so ? Maybe, just maybe… he walked towards the kitchen counter where they placed- placing his bag down and slowly placing them in against the rest of his items.

He wonders, if a cheetos bag is still here, maybe other things are? Toiletries, clothes anything?? He doesn’t even bother smelling himself for a test, he knows that in the normal world he’d be put in a quarantine- but also a change of clothes? He’s asking too much, he can’t get too high expectations. Its not too often that he gets to close his backpack satisfied with what he found, but today's that day. With its closed, Grian turned around and saw two other doors.

Trying the first one - unlocked- it revealed a small messy bedroom… and it looked untouched! Holy shit. A single bed, a clothing rack with a desk! And no zombie in site! What luck.

Gently closing the door, and using his backpack as sort of weight against the door, he threw caution to the wind walking towards the clothing rack. Mens clothes, his size, his style!

This is too perfect.

It's been at least a week of one slimy outfit, a week too long, it was suffocating and wet in the wrong places. Quickly stripping off the layers gave him so much relief, the clothes seemed to stick to him- but it felt like he can breathe.

First order of business was new underwear and socks, quickly changing so. Whilst he had time to have his shirt off, he looked at the wound from a week ago- it looked okay-ish. No sudden movements for a while and it should heal up and scab over. He winced thinking about how he got it, a bad encounter with a fence while running- well bygones be bygones. But it looked, close to opening, but he can’t think where it even reopens, as long as he doesn’t do anything stupid it will be okay. But the large line across the side of his chest doesn’t reassure him, a deep red crossing occasionally to the slowly forming scab.

He’ll be fine. That's all he needs to think.

Then he sorted through the rest of the clothes, seeing just the tackiest red Hawaiian shirt with yellow flowers he could not resist. That was first on, then a thick red jumper with black denim jeans, he had to dust off the articles of clothing but other than that they were fresh! Compared to what he used to wear it's as if they were just freshly bought.

He’s way too happy for this, but it's been too long. Any and all apartments have been raided, and no one leaves anything behind. So this is just perfect- it's a shame he can’t share with…. - hm.

He grabs more underwear and socks, forcing it into his ratty backpack. But he can't have any replacement right now, so it will do. (He couldn’t find anything else around).

This place seemed perfect, too fit for him. Should he stay here? Have a haven? A home? He could get the lights, water, heat somehow working-  
No, there are people waiting for him.  
He hopes.

Looking through the clothes again, sees another Hawaiian shirt, bright blue with white flowers. And continues perusing, trying not to think of the fact ‘hey they could match’.

Nonetheless, he spots a bomber jacket- also snags that.

With a spiffy new outfit, and smelling less bad, he was happy! Maybe today was a good day! He didn’t wake up to being a zombie, he did wake up to A zombie but it didn’t attack him. New clothes, cheetos, and maybe a safe place to go back to once in a while. Thinks are coming up Grian.

Leaving the bedroom, he headed to the other door- assuming it's the bathroom. A spring in his step as he opened it absent-mindedly, showing a small bathroom with a bathtub with a curtain of the rainforest taking up half of the space. Above the sink was a mirror that doubled as a cabinet, opening it was disappointing, soaps, toothbrush and toothpaste. He hoped for medicine or a first aid kit, but he already got a lot from this apartment. Does toothpaste expire? He thought as he placed the items into his bag, it expires when he's done with it.

Grian screams, a land suddenly lodging itself into his throat- grabbing his neck making him gasp for air. A groan coming from the assailant. The humans eyes widened, fuck fuck fuck- it's his fault, he didn’t check the bathtub. He knew it was too good to be true, he wasn’t careful enough, with a promise of being clean and the bait of something normal from his life he was lured into this trap and now he’s being hanged for it. The hand around his neck reminding him of this, and god is he angry, at himself and at the zombie. How stupid.

His knife, eyes widening he gets reminded, he used one of his hands to panicky reach into his bomber jacket- sweat coming onto his face as he was being pulled back violently- but that wasn’t half of the pain as he realised he left his knife in his other jacket- it was laying there in the old jacket laughing at him, he shouldn’t have abandoned it maybe he would be alive now.  
If he didn’t abandon his clothes, he’d be alive now, if he didn’t abandon his friends- The owner of the apartment was hungry and not happy to see someone disturbing its bath and not even paying attention to him, Grian was put back into reality as he struggled against the hand- trying to put a distance between the fingers and his neck as he tried to lodge his own between the enclosed space. With little win though.

The nails hurt so fucking much, the pull onto his skin- his head hitting the bank of the bathtub, feeling a bruise coming on over his neck and head- mind throbbing and screaming to get out.

Finally, Grian pushes himself forward, the zombie loosening its grip- letting Grian stand up and push it back. It fell back into the curtain taking the rod above it with it. He grabbed his backpack, struggling to zip it as he hauled ass.

The front door, the front door! His saviour, his safety, he ran to it- fumbling with the handle whilst adjusting his backpack.

Locked.  
It was locked, he should have checked, what has he done? In the place of some cheetos, he locked himself in with a zombie. His heart was playing a metal riff at a hundred riffs, it was locked and yet he still tried to use the handle to open it. More aggressively each time, wasting more time.

He heard a groan. And the next he knew he was being pulled back by his backpack- and in a state of no thinking just reflex, he let it slid off. The zombie now holding his backpack, confused that there isn’t a human attached to it- the human using the time to run past the slobbering undead.

As quickly as lightning, he ducks under the window- going down the stairs, being the stairs down faster than stairs down. Descending further into hell.

Loud and panic filled his steps over the grate floors, his supplies are gone, his weapon, and his neck was looking worse to wear. He lost everything, he was greedy and lost everything. And he’s running away again, that's all he can do, run away.

The sun was up in the sky now, filling the street with light- zombies passing on the side walk and through the street and looking almost normal with a passing glance. But looking too closely at the man eating zombies and to a panicked Grian, they are his death. It's ironic, that the light shines on them- it shouldn’t. The zombies should get burned under the sunlight, it's all they deserve and yet they continue on and on walking through the side walks mimicking routines of normal people who used to thrive in these buildings, in these apartments- who do they think they are?

He fell down the ladder, landing onto the ground- the zombies looked at him, at the same time, smelling the air. His clothes.

A hundred of whines and groans alerted even more, and so he ran, ran to the nearest shop he saw- a corner store in this apartment block, and maybe someone had mercy on him but it was unlocked, with a key in the door. Grian slammed the door behind him and locked it, continuing his escape, looking somewhere to hide. Passing through the aisles, he saw a door at the back, assuming it led to a back room. He heard another mourn, sweat going at his back as he saw another zombie. He just locked the door, and now he’s stuck.

The zombie lunged at him, a starved hand for his mind- Grian ducked, looking for another exit- he only saw the two doors he’s already aware of. The zombie tried again, this time Grian pushed the zombie- throwing it over the counter and hitting something.

An alarm rang throughout the store, loud and clear and in seconds the steps and groans harmonized with the siren call of the alarm, a hundred zombies were at the windows- hitting it making more and more noise. Attracting who knows who to his location.  
Remembering the back door- he went to open it before it's too late, before they get in. It was unlocked, a storage place- but empty. Obviously, it was too into the open for it to be not.

Closing the door behind him, he sat down at the base- trying to stop anything- trying to calm his screaming heart and soul. Is he going to die? He doesn’t want to die. Not this time.  
With a panicked heart and a dying toll of life, he can hear his heartbeat so loudly, its drumming at his eyes- trying to get out of his chest. And it hurts, god it hurts, the beat of the organ hammering against his skull. And he can't stop it, it beats and it beats and its beats, it doesn't stop for nothing and its his own alarm to know that something is wrong- that he should be scared. Its his final clock and his heart beats and it beats and it beats.

He placed his hand onto his chest, not even surprised when his hand came back red.  
He doesn't want to die.  
He refuses, even with all this, he refuses. He ignores the siren of his heart, the limitations of the crack in his skin, he ignores his own rational thought- he thinks of his friends. Of T- Of his friends. They must be waiting for him, he survived- he needs to show something for it. He needs to live on, he can't give up- he didn't deserve to survive, so he needs to show that there was a reason.  
Holding onto his wound- Grian turns around, crouching up and pushing onto the door, with all his might, holding the hollering door back against the riot. Shaking, and his arms bringing him pain, he holds on- the drums continuing into his lungs, but he holds on- the iron holds on and flows down, but he holds. Using his shoulders and wrists, he pushes and pushes, soon releasing his wound to use both hands- a bloody handprint slipping across the surface of the door.

Then, he hears a gunshot, a shotgun loading and fewer groans, fewer moans, fewer zombies- the triggered alarm was long gone, the echo of the shots loud in throughout the store- ringing in his ears. The banging door ends its chorus- giving Grian time, and a much needed deep breath. 

He blinked, eyes blurring- the vague smell gore clouding his thoughts. He’s just so tired. Falling back, the door opened- a blurry figure entering the door through. Then Grian was out like a light.


	2. Liminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LIMINAL "OCCUPYING A POSITION AT, OR ON BOTH SIDES OF, A BOUNDARY OR THRESHOLD."

Whispering, that's all he can hear- whispers of the deigned, whispers of who he once knew- whispers of familiar words. With a nictitating pulse, Grian opened his eyes. He saw a blank piece of flesh staring back, it spoke- it didn’t have lips but it spoke with a familiar tone and Grian didn’t feel scared, he felt safe as he laid on the lap of this vacant.

A blue shirt underneath a bulletproof jacket- heavy jeans and dark raven hair framing the slab of empty flesh- a sheet of mystery to him as he can just stare at the shadow of a man above him. It was whispering to him, tone on the verge of sobs- trying to hold it in like an overflowing well. “You’ll be okay, hold on a bit longer-” Grian remembers these words, all too well. “I promise, it will be okay.”

Grian looks down, on the huge gash across his chest- or was it something sticking out of him? Was he laying on the lap or laying on a pillow? However the crocodile tears soon to come of his friend remained the same as this vivid imagery fluctuated in and out- the blank face not gaining any resemblance to an old friend that feels like it's been a century since he saw whilst its only been a week, is he already forgetting? Or does his brain just want to forget? 

“Stay awake for me, I promise it will be okay- keep your eyes open.”

And so he does, even as his heart leaves his chest- he keeps his eyes open staring at the empty painting before him, no expression but he can feel the chest breathing of the body, the familiar arms and familiar lies. It won’t be okay will it?

Grian blinks, and he sees a girl with grey dyed hair- is she the help that was coming? Or was it the one with long black hair? Was it Salem or Netty? Netty or Salem who came to help his non-existent wound? 

He doesn’t remember.

“He isn’t answering- Netty- Please-” Ah, so it was Netty- he sees now. Dyed grey hair in a ponytail, blood on her hands as she's trying to stop something- his blood. She's also whispering to him, but he sees her while not seeing her- she's there in the corner of his eye but he can’t pay attention, a ghost of a friend whose whispers reach him as another language he can’t decipher.

He feels a hand on his face, forcing him to look away from the fountain leaking out of his chest- the expressionless face is looking at him and softly speaking, “Look at me, keep your eyes open- help is coming.” But what is he supposed to look at? There's no one here.

He closes his eyes to the endless void.   
And his eyeballs twist as he returns to the real world, with the way his heart jumps and his brain startles, he can tell he is in a moving vehicle and that his joints ache from the way he was sleeping. Where was he?

Eyes reopening he is met with an open road behind a car window, driving down a small empty road between a forest on the left and fields of grass on the right. Looking down- he sees his shirt, the bloom of red across his sweater still reminds him of the fact that everything that happened- he violently looks up finally making a strong move alerting the other party in the car.

He looks to his right, seeing someone else- who glances at him and he can’t even tell because of the bandage covering their eye. From where he’s sitting he can’t even tell any defining features about the feature, so he glances up to see the person's face in the rear-view mirror. 

“Look who’s awake.” A low accented voice greets him, and to Grians horror it doesn’t belong to anyone alive.  
He can barely see the face in the mirror but he sees enough, enough of the one white, dead eye- enough of the green skin that he associates with murder. And the glimpse of a smile, the eyes dart away from the mirror and Grians does too as he the zombie looks straight at him in the car, no mirror needed. Brown hair with a matching stubble, a bandage over the side of its face and topped with a smile. Was it to reassure him? Is he happy to see he's awake- but instead of comfort all Grian can feel is fear, seeing the sharp teeth through the big bad wolf's smile. Sharp teeth perfect for biting through skills.

With that, all rational thought went out of the window; ignoring the fact it talked- Grian realises that he's in a car with a zombie. And he does not want his brains to be takeaway for it. He lunges for the wheel, with the benefit of surprise. Steering the car to the left quite violently and if this wasn’t an apocalyptic world he would most definitely be getting a ticket. 

“What- What the fuck are you doing?!” The zombie shouts accent much heavier under the stressful conditions, and Grian feels hands on his as it tries to stop him but to no avail, as it was too late and the car tires swerved right with a loud screech across the cement and without warning the two were pushed forward the only thing stopping them from heading across the windshield was the seatbelts across their chests

Grian stopped- head ringing as he looked forward; having to move his hair due to it jostling across his head to the collision and saw the car hit a telephone line the engine upfront began to smoke.

The two passengers' breaths echoes throughout the shock and silence of the scene, of the accident both surprised and not at the outcome and the mundane of it all. A car crash, there won’t be police they can call or a towing company, nor a hospital if one of them headed through the window. The paralysis jostled them but Grian regained his function before the zombie as he unbuckled his seat belt. Twisting his body to the car door; opening it quick and tripping out.

He was already running off when from the car he heard a vague: “Goddamn- Fuck- Hey wait! Asshole!”

But it's ignored, Grian runs and runs and into the forest of bodies. He makes noise, so much so it fits as he pants as he sprints across the trees, as he steps on twigs and leaves he runs and runs past the slow zombies, past the laying one past everything. 

He just needs to outrun him, outrun the zombie- find another human or find some kind of weapon. But for now, he ran- tramping over everything and anything he clearly did not care about stealth- he cared about putting distance between that car and himself.

He starts seeing an exit, light coming from a clearing above- an opening between the trees. He sees that but not the downward slope, well, he doesn’t until he’s tumbling down it. Leaves and mud covering him as he falls down, for a second he’s a child again- purposely tumbling down a grassy hill as he lays on the top and raises his hands above him and gets pushed down by his friends, having fun where he doesn’t need to be scared about being a meal- the only meal he’s thinking about is the ice-cream his mom will get him later if he can sleepover with his friends- if he can go to Sam's house later-

Then he hits the ground. Covered in mud and regret, he weakly lays up on his elbows- grilling himself for his stupidity. Hissing, his body and wound not liking the physical fall and they are letting him know this. But his heart, his heart- beating as loud as it can, the good old siren telling him he’s going to die, it stops. For once, but only on the forthcoming zombie howl before him. He looks up to see another in the pit with him, with a ragged axe in hand. An armed zombie, just what he needs.

And to make things better, yet another yowl from the top of the slope. He turned back and saw two more zombies, limply standing on the peak. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have ran through the forest basically alerted every zombie to come and get him. He reached to grab his knife from his jacket pocket, then remembering. Right. Instead, Grian stood up; just as the zombies above him started tumbling down the muddy hill. To avoid them, he wanted to turn around and run- instead, finding himself face to face with the lumberjack zombie. 

Grian doesn’t have a way to defend himself, no knife, gun or anything- just him and his fists. And he felt so, naked, he had nothing. He was helpless right now, putting his hands in fists- uncovered hands not even covered in gloves- he shouldn’t have taken his own things for granted cause right now he might just die for it.

Surrounded by three zombies, the lumberjack weakly swung at him- thankfully Grian could easily avoid this grabbing the axe. Trying to take the weapon but quickly realising that the zombies hand and the handle have grown as one- the handle of the weapon dug onto the palm of the zombie and the skin seemed to have accustomed itself by growing around it. This made Grian recoil (hypocritically, he knows) such making him step back just as the two other zombies were standing up.

One zombie was having difficulty, but the other was quicker, much quicker. Not as rotted, clearly a new turn but that did not matter as it lunged at him- long nails that scraped his jacket in close quarters. Grian pushed it away with a strong force, panicked still even when it fell back down, but like a hydra the heads grew back as the slower zombie stood up in finality, and he saw the graze of an axe by him, it missed him but it showed him one thing.

He can’t possibly keep this up.

As if that was a call for help, that thought alone- he heard another set of footsteps, they were heavy and quick like a reeling engine about to unload and then with the sound of a shotgun loading, help came.

The slow zombie before him got a hole through his head- still smoking as it fell back down beside its friend. And with a bitter heart, Grian realised the help was the other zombie he previously doomed. It stood on the top of the slope, tall with a long ragged coat over black jeans and boots with a utility belt at its waist with pouches and another smaller gun held by. But even with all that the green skin of the zombie stood out.

It slid down- much more gracefully than him and the other zombies. Still standing, using one foot to steady himself as it slid down before him and the other firmly into the mud for balance- it arrived at the bottom before the dumbstruck Grian and shot the still wriggling zombie on the ground- it took out a shotgun shell from one of the pouches, reloading it and placed it on top of Grians shoulder- Grians breath hitched and- yeah, he did not think anything but ‘oh my god’

It shot the lumberjack zombie behind him and took the shotgun back. In shock, Grian fell down onto his knees. Oh my god. He looked up at the zombie, and he actually missed the smile he was scared off before, missing the “look who's awake” grin with terrifying sharp teeth where this expression towards him was pure hatred and annoyance.

The zombie gritted its teeth, crouching down to the lumberjack- taking off its glove revealing more of green skin; and Grian silently watched as he placed his fingers in the hole in its head and scooped out some of the blood.

Then in an instant, the zombie was above him- Grian fell back to crawl away but it grabbed its wrist in an iron grip- Grian thrashed around not knowing what will happen.

“Don’t run. I'm trying-” It spoke, Grian tried to kick it- making things worse as it dodged with a heavy and annoyed growl making its use of its own legs to subdue Grians’- its weight making it difficult to move around. “Don’t move. I’m trying to help.” It finally could finish its sentence- and using the blood-covered fingers it started to smear it over Grians face, making Grian choke due to the horrible smell. 

Grian continued to try to escape the confines of the hold, the zombie continued talking “There's more zombies coming- your little escapade alerted a lot more than these ones.” it told him his reasoning.

This made Grian stop his efforts, that- that makes sense. He knew that was going to happen, but he well, forgot- and he thought he would have outrun them by now. It started smearing more blood over his face- Grian felt really uncomfortable as it roughly applied it over his face and neck, clearly not caring if it hurts or not.

“You can let go of my wrist now,” Grian muttered. The zombie went still, then slowly let go - letting the hand fall to the ground. It rubbed more of the blood around his face before standing up.

“Let's go then,” It decided, the weight from Grians leg disappearing. Grian sat up- looking up to the zombie who was dusting itself off. “What about you?” Grian asked standing up- accepting his current fate of going with the zombie. 

“What about me?” It asked walking back up the slope.

“Are you going to put on blood?” Grian asked, following it up. 

It stopped and looked down on Grian. “I’ll be fine.” It deadpanned, and by the tone clearly thinks Grian is stupid because of that question- at least that's what Grian got from that.

“R-right,” he said, a bit more self-conscious now. 

The two reached the top of the slope- and there was a crowd of zombies waiting and looking around. 

“Oh.” He let out.   
“Shh!” It shushed him, placing a finger on its lips.

Grian nodded, oof. The zombie walked by him, holding the shotgun in front of him- ready to shoot. It glanced to Grian and then nodded its head, indicating for Grian to go ahead. Not wanting too, but still, he walked forward- and although the zombie was pointed at everything but him it felt like the shotgun was placed on his back. As if he was a prisoner being taken to his cell. Maybe he is? He’s walking first towards what he assumes his doom, what else is the zombie going to do with him? The gun in his back reminds him that maybe he should have died in that pit, so he can avoid whatever fate he’ll get now- or just stayed with his friends- he should have stayed with him. Then he would have died with him- or at least saved him, he would know what to do right now. He’d know how to get out, he’d make up some crazy plan that would work- and he wouldn’t be a prisoner of a zombie.

But, regrettably, Grian could give kudos to said zombie. They’re still alive, walking through the horde undetected back to the car. As they passed the last zombie, Grian started to calm down- then they finally crossed the threshold and he let out a deep breath he was holding throughout the whole ordeal. “Jesus Christ.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” The zombie spoke finally and harshly. “You could have killed us both!” It wasn’t shouting, obviously not wanting to alert the zombies again, but it seemed to have pent this up- letting it release right now.

“I- I - You were going to eat me!” He tried to defend himself, but the stutter didn’t help his case “You're a fucking zombie!”

“I bandaged you up!” It retailed, this time raising its voice, starting to walk a bit away from the edge of the forest. “Why would I bandage you up, save you, just to eat you?|!”

“Maybe you tried to hansel and Gretel me! Feed me and plump me up then eat my brains!” Grian followed, the two arguing as they walked by the road. 

“I - Ugh!” It was dumbfounded, raising its hand as if about to say something harsh then put them back down, “Well- fucking anyway- it's getting dark, and now we’re stranded out in the road. Congrats!” Grian looked up, seeing it was right- the sun was setting.

Maye it had a point in that last one, “I- Where were you taking me anyway?” Grian asked, trying to change the topic of blame and dark.

“I- '' The zombie stopped, “I don't know, I- You were hurt and bleeding badly,” it continued walking, now slower and less angry. “I thought it was better to just. Get out of y’know.” It turned around with a deadpan- “The horde of zombies you decided to bring to downtown.”

“It was an accident,” Grian mumbled. Maybe he had a point. Again. 

“Right.”

This ended the conversation, the awkward stroll through the side of the road continues.   
Grian looked up at the zombie, it was a zombie. Yet it could talk and shoot other zombies- it didn’t eat its brain and it was fully conscious. What is up with that? Why is it alive? That can’t be possible, and it knows its a zombie- they both know it too and yet the fact didn’t come up. Shouldn’t there be an explanation, it should have a card- a small card that says “hey I'm a zombie, because a, b and c” and make things easier for everyone.

God, what was he even doing here? Grian wiped his face- grossed out as she saw the blood sticking to his hands, he hates this. So much, and it's getting dark, they need to find somewhere to sleep. He looked to the other side of the road- no houses around and-

“What about there?” Grian pointed out, stopping in his tracks pointing to the field across them. A lonely van tipped to its side in the middle of the field.

Grian looked towards the zombie, disappointed to see a grimace on its face. Deciding to put things in his own hands, he started walking across the street, “Well I'm not being picky.” Feeling smug as he heard a sputtering mess of objections behind him, happy to one-up the zombie for once. Jumping the fence was easy- short probably kept to keep cattle separated- (are there zombie cows? Sheep? hm)

The jumped onto the grass on the side and continued his walk- glancing back he saw the zombie following. The two arrived at the van, tipped on its side- the zombie walked to the front and looked above into the windows on top right now, “Nothing in front.” it assured Grian before walking back to him towards where the van doors are.

“I'll open it and you shoot whatever's inside?” Grian suggested the zombie nodded.

And so- Grian opened the doors, stepping back immediately- and there was nothing there.

“Oh.” the two said at the same time, then ignored that fact.

And it was weird, Grian went in first- crawling on the side open door to get into the empty van space and settling down on the back. The zombie also got in, still shotgun in hand and with the other it shut the door, finally shutting the doors behind it- embracing them in darkness.

And maybe in the dark, Grian realised the situation. In such a short place, he’s stuck with a zombie voluntarily. And it seemed friendly, it did. Maybe not friendly but it won’t kill him, and that's all that's needed these days isn’t it? Don’t kill me, and we’ll be fine. Before it was if you respect me if you’re nice to me, but now the biggest asshole is scot-free as long as there isn’t an epitome of murder under their skin.   
He blinks, but then the asshole goes too far- he doesn’t kill, he doesn’t want to kill and he tells you this- he doesn’t want you to die. And the asshole doesn’t have murder under his skin but it was violence and he craves it and it scares you cause you used to know them before they were like that- you used to know them before he twirled knives and stared at you weirdly, you used to know him before he got the crazed bloodlust. You used to know him before.

You used to know him before he stabbed you before he was driven off by everyone else because of the betrayal.  
So maybe even these days, don’t kill me is still not enough to be scot-free. 

But, that's over. And Grian right now doesn’t know if he should feel safe or scared. But it's been a week of solitude and it took a toll on him- he always travelled with someone so the week of solemnity wasn’t good for him, and maybe he should have stayed alone.   
Maybe his friend dying off should have given him a sigh it was finally time to be alone, to never go back to a group- bad luck, all his groups always break in half, always get lost- and he was always with him. But now he’s gone, what is he supposed to do now?

He looked into the dark, the general outline of the zombie sitting by the door showed through the absolute black. He closed his eyes, leaning his head on the metal wall of the vehicle, then spoke. 

“...Grian.” 

“What?” The zombie mustered out, surprised.

Grian opened his eyes again, looking at the zombie, “My name is Grian.”

There was a beat of silence and Grian could see a toothy smile making its way on the zombies face, even in the dark the white noticeably protruding through the shadows.

“You can call me Doc.” He introduced himself.


	3. Opia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OPIA "THE AMBIGUOUS INTENSITY OF LOOKING SOMEONE IN THE EYE"

Grian did not sleep.

It almost felt offensive that he hasn’t. But, it felt too dangerous- his heartbeat too loud, his worries overtaking him when his eyes closed for too long, his senses ignoring the deeds, the saving, everything the other did to somehow earn a tiny amount of trust. But, in the end, one was a zombie and he was human, and it was a confined space. With that simple summary, he couldn’t bring himself to rest. And believe him, there is a pigment of guilt- because it somehow should have given him some trust right? Saving from a crowd of undead- to saving him from another few in the forests even after…

No- fuck that. No, he won’t feel guilty because of a zombie. Fuck him, he didn’t ask to be saved- he’s miles away from the city, the last place he had some sort of safe haven in. The closest place he somewhat knew where he belonged, or at least had an inkling where his friends could be. Now he’s sleeping in a dusty van. He’s not going to be grateful. And who knows what that zombie will even do? No sleep for him, not when there is a threat- he doesn’t even know if the zombie is also asleep, zombies don’t need sleep. So why would it either?

And such, apart from blinking and relapses of conscious breaks, Grians eyes were wide open. Staring at the other figure in the van, unlike him peaceful with closed eyes- Grian couldn't tell if it was faking it or not. His paranoia refused to cease through his tight fists and glare into the air, he waited for something he did not know for sure would come.

Grian took a deep breath. He was tired, and yet he refused to sleep - his anger fuelled him to continue to stay up, but being left alone with his thoughts were not his usual idea of a good time. Constantly coming up to refusing conclusions that he knew were out of centre- out of any normal sane mind. But he did not let himself succumb to sleep anyway, the excuse of the zombie in his immediate presence was both a distraction and a good excuse. Then, he didn't have to hide the fact that the longer his eyes cloaked, the more vivid he could see him.

Them.

Flashes of white, of screaming, of his friends, back turned to him after he pushed him towards the chain-link fence. The sound of ‘run!’ burning into his mind, crawling and nestling into his ears like a parasite, and before he knew it; his legs were abiding the order. Blinks of colour and his heart beating and feeding into his nerves, the regret of the fact he should have stayed and fought back, help somehow. Die alongside his friend instead of alone. But he didn’t. He ran away like a coward. 

He could not sleep. That was the final truth on his tongue, the condensed version of the feelings he refused the explain even to himself. Or at least admit, his lying heart answered instead of the truth, it showed the paranoia and distrust he carried with him.

But he was so alone, and the uncomfortable realisation that he felt even somewhat better with the semi-conscious zombie by him is another thing he'd rather not admit, better yet, didn't deserve. He’s scared, angry, sad- Grian didn't know, but fury was bumbling underneath his skin, even if it was not the main emotion of the trio, and maybe he’s angry that he felt somewhat alright with this while at the same time fearing for his life. That any moment, it could open its eyes- eye. There is a bandage across its right eye, he wonders what’s the story there is. 

But even with the threat, he felt like it was a betrayal. Of oneself, morals, friends. It’s been, a week and a bit, and he already had someone else by his side, he didn't deserve that. Not when his friends’ fate is still up to question. Because even if he was scared, there was someone there. Grian hated that he could not explain it.  
Then, he heard chirping, a melodic sound of birds falling towards him, it felt ironic that he could still hear them. That they were still out there, pretending that nothing had changed. They make so much noise, it's nice noise, but still- to a zombie it's but a siren indicating lunchtime. It attracted both humans and zombies, both searching for food. And the birds could just fly away, fly away before caught, fly away before something happened- fly away and never return to the place, go somewhere and repeat. 

Grian raised his hand, hiding his eyes from the slow sunlight rising through the lopsided window upfront, he could see a small piece of a shadowed tree, silhouettes of birds sitting on them with no worries.

But- even if they could fly away, they must land one day. They must stop and sit down on a tree, that’s where it strikes. And then death, a shotgun through a sniper, a knife, a bite, eventually life catches up to them. No more flying away from troubles, flying away from the first sight of danger, flying away from friends who are hurt- flying away and getting sacked when karma finally catches up to them.

He wished he wasn’t a bird.

“You’re awake.” The deep voice is so loud in between the sweet sounds of the outside, low, quiet even- but it felt like a shout in the previous music of the morn. Grian looked back the source, the zombie is awake. The sun slowly highlighted its eye in a gradient, leaning down to cast light across its face, letting shadows accentuate the deep features of the monster.

“Yea.” Grian answers after a beat, not sure what else to say. The feeling of the morning getting to him, he felt himself go grab for his backpack- then he was struck with the ghost of a memory of what happened. 

“I-“ he began, eyebrows furrowing when he realised that he does not need the zombies’ pity, he won’t cry about how he lost his supplies- he lost the ability to get them back because of said dead. “How far away from the city did you bring me?” Grian asked with an accusatory tone, a harsh edge to his tone- an obvious ‘how dare you’ to the simple sentence. He wanted to go back to that apartment, he knew it would not be wise, but it was the last place- an actual space, that he felt safe in. Where he could barricade windows and lock the doors, as long as he got rid of the previous owner, he’s going to be fine.

Although he was being hopeful that the horde of zombies was gone by now, - somehow scared away when … when Doc got him out. 

The zombie ignored the severe timbre, “About..” it took a beat, looking up- thinking of something before looking back down towards Grian. “- Hundred miles?” 

It waved its hand, “I was driving for two hours or so, I don’t know for sure.” It gave a clear estimate, but Grian knew even if the number was of no matter if by less or more, it doesn’t pose well for the human on how he will get back, or how long it will take by foot alone.

“That’s…” he pressed down on his eyelids before pinching the bridge of his nose, “That’s a full day of walking- even more.” 

Maybe he should not go back, too risky- he’s not good enough at this surviving thing to get through such a journey. A constant steady pace for a full twenty-four hours, through the countryside he had never been too. He didn't think he will be able to do it alone- he barely survived with a group, alone he would not fend well- yesterday was an indication of that.

“I’m sure we can find a car.” His nihilistic thoughts were interrupted by the zombie.

“Huh?” Grian could only answer as the small word echoed in his mind. We. We???

Doc shrugged, grabbing his shotgun from the floor sitting up after to stand- well stand, he’s clearly hunched over in this small space. “It’s the country, there has to be some tractor, or-“he shook his head trying to think of something else, “Something. Its farms- they have to get around somewhat.” 

He could barely comprehend what Doc was saying, we? He’s going to help him?

Then, Doc turned around and opens the doors to the van, first the one on the bottom- the van was still sideways after all. The door on the bottom made a ledge of sorts- Doc then opened the top one showing off the full field, the both of them distracted by the conversation. Too distracted with their own thoughts too realise they should have waited or at least pointed a gun at the doors. Because a second a later a man-eating zombie was on Doc.

Doc fell back into the van, the zombie snarled loudly, the sound of it bouncing against the metal interior of the vehicle- Grian jumped up in surprise, hitting his head on the ceiling in shock- the zombie groaned as it reached for Doc, slobber dripping from the diseased body as the scene unfolded.

Grian did not even bother to look for a weapon, as he pulled his foot back sideways and kicked the zombie out of the van in his usual impulsive nature. It felt like he was in high school again, the football underneath his feet as he rears his boot back and hits the ball towards the goal. But these days it is a zombie head and outside a van. And with the strong force, the zombie tripped past the doors and back onto the grass by the van.

Doc fell back- chest heaving with wide eyes, Grian saw the surprise in his eye, he didn’t expect that either- the zombie nor the kick. 

The zombie was still there however, its hands raising at it grabbed onto the lower door as it slowly pulled itself back up, the rotting hand leaving a dark stain on the white plate. It moaned like a warning- but Doc did not move. He stayed still where he was laying, eye widened in shock as the zombie popped its back inside the van, determined to get its fill.

Grian took matters into his own hands, once again he moved over the paralysed Doc- he ran across and jumped forward- one foot extended before him being used to spread the zombie's brain onto the green grass. The move was quick and steady - Grian did not allow any mercy to slip into his actions. He squashed it under the sole of his shoe, and when the guts and various other remains spilled out beneath his foot he was suddenly reminded of an orange being stepped on.

He looked back to the van, “Come on!” it came out as a shout, much louder than intended but it still worked as it woke up Doc from his trance. He blinked and sat up,- quickly returning to his more attentive self. “Fuck- “ he swore as he sat up, “Sorry.” He apologised before grabbing his shotgun and leaving the van.

The human looked back onto the field, looking around for more zombies- and he easily found them. A horde at the edge of the clearing, slowly tripping their way towards the beacon of noise and motions that the two of them were there and ready to be devoured. He’s shocked at first but then hit himself- of course. The group from the forest, the scent of human eventually reveals itself even under layers of blood, but it takes so long for them to track down a scent... yet, a night would be the perfect amount of time for said ambush to catch up to them.

It musn’t have taken them so long just to get to that spot- or maybe they were waiting for the fate of the one brave at the doors, it was the bait. And it worked, as Grian was out in full view like a buffet for the hungry.  
And the fear he knew all too well consumes him- standing with his two feet in the mud, right beside a dead zombie as he was faced with a wall of the undead. His organs were calling out to them, luring them in with a sweet stench, practically begging to be bitten into- and he did not know how he would get himself out of this one. The only visible thing to him is the last time he felt this, the last time he was met with all-consuming helplessness. It’s an oncoming doom- the scare of being ripped apart, skin being torn apart with no remorse except the groans of hunger, but last time it was in an alleyway- this time a much larger field. 

Suddenly, he heard Docs own groan- for a split second, he thinks that he is going to bite into him, that in the end, he’s not going to let some other zombies get his food. Grian turned around with a burst of energy that nearly made him trip, but the need to see what was happening behind him made him ignore his embarrassment.

nstead of the expected row of sharp teeth about to bite into him, he saw Doc shoving his weight against the sideways van - trying to turn it right side-up, get it back on its wheels. Was he mad?!

Grian looked back at the horde.

Maybe he was too.

With a quick jog, Grian positioned himself beside Doc, the other barely spared him a glance before the two continued pushing with combined effort, the van stuck in the dirt underneath, sticking to its place stubbornly. Grian moved his feet back, digging his heels into the grass as he used all his strength to push onto the van. The vehicle only slightly budging as the two separately tried their best.

“Big push in three!” Grian called out, glancing at Doc who nodded as they locked eyes. A sense of unity between them looking back onto the car.

“One!” The two groan, as they push for the first time- it’s small, but there was a hint of movement, of progress.

“Two!” Once again, the same but they felt the van move under their hands- beginning to budge.

“Three!” Grian roared as if the volume is going to help with the push, and it somehow felt like it did, as the hunk of metal finally gave in. Grian put his elbows on the car before pushing forwards as the van moved. It allowed him to step forward again, and again-, unbeknownst to him mirroring Docs actions beside him as the two moved in unison. It tipped over, a loud noise of gears alerting the already present zombies to them. And maybe even beyond, well, better late than never.

They took no time to circle to the back of it, Doc opening the doors again as they closed under the movement of the fall. They quickly climbed through the back, Doc going first and stopping before the front seats, he turned to Grian and pushed his shotgun towards him, “Do you know how to use this?” He asked after handing him the weapon - Grian felt like he had no choice but to nod. He's sure he'd be able to figure it out, anyway. So, he quickly nodded his head before turning around towards the open door behind him as Doc climbed into the driver's seat. Grian heard a loud crashing sound, and then - the spark of wires.

Grian looked at the shotgun, it was long and, most definitely not the best suit for him- or at least he’s not used to such a heavyweight gun like this, but he’d make do. Thinking what Doc did earlier, when he killed those zombies that surrounded Grian in the forest, the position he put the gun in- he copied. Placing the shotgun steady leaning against his shoulder, finger on the trigger as he heard the jostling of the shells in the caliber.

And just as he finally adjusted, the first zombie arrives in the line of sight- stumbling into the back of the van, Grian lines up his shot- he took a deep breath as if he was hunting. 

Then he pulled the trigger, and the takeback jostled him, forcing him back onto the floor as the zombie - currently having gained a new hole in the middle of its head - fell back as well. Holy shit. Grian looked at the shotgun in awe, not expecting the power from the weapon- and smiled.. He’d never used a shotgun before, he saw it being used plenty of times, but always by people who could handle it- making it look weak, easy but that one shot was already giving him a power trip.

Then the van starts, the background of the opening moving forward- the doors struggling against the wind as another voice joins the fray, “Get in here!” Doc called out from upfront, gesturing to the passenger seat. But, Grian didn't think and instead launched himself towards the swinging doors as he placed the shotgun down, and he made his way over to the doors.

Like a grade-A dumbass he decided to close the backdoors as the van wasnin motion. He buries his foot in between the small opening where the hinges were- the corner pressing onto his toes even under the layer of the boot, but he ignored it as he leaned over the open air, before grabbing onto the door as it swung towards him, he looked down as he saw the ground quickly speeding by beneath him, its only grass. He gulped as he closed the first door, locking it in place- then he placed his body flush against it to lean over and grab the second door as it drew near, locking it as well. 

Grian turned around, and moved through the van, grabbing the seat and then quickly sitting down- finally feeling a sense of stability to lock down. Doc, upon seeing Grian sit down, hit the pedal harshly as he made the van move faster than before - quickly gaining speed and where Doc had previously been avoiding the zombies in the  
field, he now steered towards them with a hard left turn on the wheel and his foot pressing the pedal to the metal, flooring the van. The car drifted along the grass until they were facing the wall of Zombies.

Grian felt as if there should be a rock soundtrack blasting through, as he could see Doc smile wickedly while changing the setting on the stick. And with that spark in his eye, he… he looked normal. He looked like someone excited to try out something new, to be in his element. Even if that meant ploughing down zombies. 

“Hold onto something,” Doc aaid as he revved the engine- the purr of the organ vibrating through the vehicle- like he instructed Grian raised his hand and grabbed onto the handle above him. Then with one final warning through the van, Doc hit the pedal and they started driving across the field. 

And as Grian looked out the window, the zombies start getting closer and closer. The van does not hesitate to be way in its path towards them. Then- they break through the wall, like bowling pins they fall under the wheels of the van- blood of the damned squelching under the tires of the vehicle, and Grian couldn't help but grin at the carnage.

He doesn’t know even why, it just happens Before he could realise he's doing it, a smile  
had spread across his face as the burning fires of revenge coursed through him - and suddenly, the sight of the corpses falling down made him see flashes of his long-gone friends being cannibalised by those same teeth- a scene he would never forget, and this moment brought him a deep kind of sadistic satisfaction that he'd never let himself enjoy before.

He bumps up as they run over more and more bodies, he barely blinks however even when hands hit onto the windshield, trying to get to him- dead hands and eyes covering the windows like brushes at a car wash.

With another wheel turn, Doc finally gets them out the other side of the wall leaving behind them a visible trail of bodies as they turn towards the road- back the way they came leaving bloody mark tires reckoning them of the future of any other who cross their path.  
“Holy shit.” Grian said, face still in a grin.   
“Holy shit!” He said again, looking towards Doc- who just blinked at him before the man matched his grin with one of his own.

“We got out!” Doc laughed.

“We got out!” Grian repeated in joy, “That was awesome. Holy fuck.” He couldn't even properly talk, overwhelmed by what just happened.

“I didn’t even think that this thing had any gas in it- yet- she got us out!” Doc placed his hand on the dashboard, then looked back onto the road quickly as they swerved around something. The two quickly got the message to stop with the distractions.

Using the silence, Grian took a deep breath, leaning forwards- finally letting himself calm down, his beating heart prominent in the now less stressful environment. He leaned back in his seat - he'd raised his hands to his lips, and upon feeling them he realised he'd been smiling and touched his cheek. He groaned as he pulled his fingers away only to find them smudged with the blood Doc had smeared across his face the night before. He'd forgotten about that. He grimaced, and pulled his hand back into the sleeve of his jacked before using the fabric to wipe at his face.

He glanced up onto the rearview mirror, it was visibly cracked, but as the dozen of his face followed him, it was better than nothing- with another wipe he seemed satisfied with the help of the mirror, his peach skin returning to him. How did he not realise it was still on? But with the state of his clothes, mostly covered in mud and leaves- and he’s sure that the back of his jacket had flecks of blood anyway, aswell as the stain of blood on his sweater. it’s not like it’s the biggest worry of his.

Then as if he didn’t even think of the sign from a second ago, he gets distracted by thinking about his clothes- the only thing that brought him back to reality was the sudden presence of a thumb on his cheek- he jolted back as he quickly slapped it away, and he looked up to see the thumb retreat back to its owner. Grian glared at the other man.

“What the fuck.” He simply stated, clearly showing that he was not quite comfortable with him yet.

Still staring at the road, Doc shrugged, “You had a bit here.” With his own finger, he pointed to his own cheek.

Grian stared at him a bit, shoulders up and ready- he turned away to look out of the window- the morning forest ran past him in a quick motion, greens and browns blurring at the speed they were travelling.

“We’re heading to the city right?” He asked, trying to gulp down the shake to his tone, not looking at Doc as he tried to hide and bite down his rage. 

Why did that zombie think that touching him like that would be okay? What if he tried to eat him? What if Grian attacked him? ‘He had something there’. Fuck off, he didn't need help for something like that. He’s not a child.

“That’s the plan.” He heard a reply, it was a shrugged voice- a matter of fact. 

“Right.” Grian nodded, relaxing a bit, shoulders sagging- maybe he was overacting. The adrenaline was getting to him, after a few beats he spoke again. “Its… a long ride there.”

“Yes,” Doc answered.

An awkward silence befell them.

Ok, maybe Grian felt somewhat bad now. He still didn't like the zombie but , he shouldn’t have snapped so quickly. Grian shouldn’t care whenever if he gets along with Doc or not, but with everything that just happened- they somewhat worked good together, also; anyone would succumb to this horrible silence filling the car.

Grian peeked at the zombie from the corner of his eye, it’s difficult to make out his expression- Grian just now realised how much he relied on someone's eyes to tell their emotions, but with the bandage in the way, it’s difficult to gouge what creature what feeling.

However, he could finally get a good look at the other- it's sunny out and everything was visible. 

His green skin was hard to not notice, but with the amount of cover on his body, only his face showed it off- and even the bandage hid a lot of it anyway, but other than that everything else was covered, hands hidden under thick black gloves, he wore a long brown jacket zipped up over a black turtleneck- there’s a belt of pouches at his waist, earlier Grian noticed him taking shotgun shells out of them- he assumed of them also held ammo, the belt also had two holders on the side currently facing them. One to hold a gun, the other a knife hidden in it. Looking down further; he saw thick black pants bundling up at the ankle with heavy black boots covering the feet.

…Prepared. A survivalist.

He tried not to think of the worst scenario on the why. He’s a zombie, he’d be immune right? Why need the layers? Better yet why even bother with the weapon?

But then again, without it- he would be dead. 

The angel on his shoulder decided to speak up, ‘maybe you should be more grateful’ it told him, and for once Grian didn't flick the little shit off his shoulder. Maybe. Both times it was a done deal if the other didn’t show up, the echo of the shotgun always being somewhat an indication of his saviour. 

He bit his lip, looking back out the window- he should have assessed the situation first rather than acting stupid, thought about it, asked questions. But he was never one to do that, was he?

Impulsive, just get out, don’t think of anything else- that’s what he did. Flying away at the first sign of trouble.

His fists curled, that’s what he does, doesn’t he? Just. Going. Flying away the moment danger presents itself, the moment the zombie had shown up in the apartment he'd ran, and ended up alerting even more zombies. Then he'd woke up in Doc's care and he'd immediately ruined it - the moment it all became too much for him, when it started to make less sense, when he'd stopped being in control.

Like now.

It could all could be a lie, Doc driving him somewhere completely foreigh to him- maybe that’s why he'd saved him? Keeping him as fresh as possible before devouring him. Maybe there’s more like him? More sentient zombies, but instead they had manners or at least- liked to have good food. 

To catch fresh prey and- Grian hit his head slightly against the window to stop this thought process. He couldn't help it, the last time he watched a tv show it was Hannibal, it was back with his first group- where it was mostly his college class, so close to the start of this whole thing, where most electronics still worked. They'd watched Hannibal, it was in bad taste but they'd found it funny at the time.

But, even if it was the case. There’s not much he could do right now, he didn't want to crash the car again- he felt like this time Doc wouldn't be as likely to save him from zombies again.

So, with a yawn and the realisation that once again, he did not sleep at all. He rolled down the window, letting the morning air in- he leaned over- crossing his arms across the opening, leaning his head on his forearms. The van made the position slightly shaky, but it’s nice. Peaceful even.

The sun trickled through the leaves, rays shyly passing through the waves of air around them, whispers of bells and flowers singing a sweet scent through the country air. It’s calming and made him think everything was okay for now. That he’s just taking a ride with a friend out to the countryside or on his way back home after a vacation, something mundane and normal. Where for the moment he doesn’t have to worry, he doesn’t think where he’s going to sleep for the night, he doesn’t need to worry to scavenge for things, he can just close his eyes and listen to the sounds of the wheels, of the birds, of the outside. 

Taking a deep breath, he looked across the sky. It’s only for now, he reminded himself. But for now, he could let himself pretend the world hasn’t gone to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for tunfisken and backMusician for beta reading this chapter!!


	4. Agnosthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AGNOSTHESIA "THE STATE OF NOT KNOWING HOW YOU REALLY FEEL ABOUT SOMETHING"

It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the zombies are feeding. On days like this…. A certain human is regretting his decision of not dying back in that store from earlier as he is stuck with a fucking dimwit.

Grian takes a deep, loud, breath- through his nose for five, out his chest for eight. Making sure that Doc knows exactly his feelings on this situation. The blonde was leaned against the metal van, arms crossed, not sure if he was supposed to laugh or be simply disappointed. He decided for both, adding more noise to the deep breath as he followed it up with a judgemental scoff.

It was five pm or so, a deep afternoon that they spent travelling down roads for the past few hours, cloudless skies, a clear road (no traffic, who would have thought it in a zombie apocalypse?) and the rare good spirits! They were fine till now, although Grian did wonder why a two hour (as he was told) journey has turned into over ten hours of driving.

Though Grian did take a nap, and he doesn’t know much about cars- so give or take. But when he did wake up from his well-deserved nap, he woke up just to find a stationary van and…. A very frustrated zombie.

“I thought you like-“ Grian tried to think of a word, raising his hand in an open motion- “didn’t know where you were going-“

“Yeah! That’s why you shouldn’t be mad-“ Doc replied quickly interrupting the human from where he was standing. They were parked at the side of the room before two diverging roads, and Doc was standing right before the two with hands-on hips. 

And he was just staring at them.

So productive.

“I’m not mad.” Grian said firmly, “Just… why would you take turns- instead of driving in a straight line. Were you trying to get lost?”

“I wasn’t trying to get lost, I was just trying to- I was trying to get us out of the city. You know after you woke up half the zombie population in it?” Doc finally turned around, making him look ridiculous as he still had his hands on his hips, giving Grian a judging look. 

Grian bit the inside of his cheek. “Alright.” He admitted defeat on that front, he never can defend himself on that one.

“And we’re not lost. Simply…” Doc looked back at the two diverging roads, “Searching.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

He raised his hands in a defensive way, “Okay- Okay.” He put them back into his pockets, and after a beat, he spoke again, “…you don’t know where we’re going, do you.”

“No, not really.” Doc admitted.

“Then what are we out here for?” Grian decided to stand up straight, walking towards Doc. “Let's just drive! Better than staying in one place.”

The zombie glanced at him, before sighing once again. “We can’t afford to take the wrong turn, we don’t know how much gas we have left.”

“We don’t?” Grian feels a bit stupid now, he never really- ever, got his license … so he isn’t sure really how to tell how much gas they have left. “How do we-“ he wanted to ask how to find out exactly but decided against, feeling it would be embarrassing to admit he didn’t know much about cars.

“Yeah. The dials are broken.” Doc answered anyway, Grian not sure if he knew what he meant by the cut off question or just out of politeness.

“We’re going to run out eventually, better somewhere further away than from the city.” He continued, although he was getting a bit annoyed by now- they don’t have time for this. Who knows what Ta- what his friends, what could be happening to them right now. And he doesn’t want to be late just because some zombie couldn’t make up his mind.

“Let’s go.” He bit out, a bit harsher than intended, but with the idea of him being late for… something. 

He doesn’t want to assume the worst but he’s going to assume the worst, and his mood changes so quickly nowadays- never to sadness or happiness from anything to straight up anger up his skin.  
It feels like magma bubbling under him the more he steps away from the zombie, and the more he wants to turn around and bash it head in like he did with the other one- to knock some sense into it, so stop wondering, to get on with it. And the zombie still lingers standing as Grian imagines climbing into the van, and it takes him all his strength to not just light the engine and run it over, anger gritting his teeth as he doesn’t think about calming himself down. 

Run it over, beat its brains in, just as the other monsters just like killed his friends.

No. Grian climbed into the van at that moment for real, No.

His friends aren’t fucking dead.  
They wouldn’t fucking dare.  
Taurtis wouldn’t die.

Zombies are too stupid to catch them. 

Grian looks over at Doc, biting his lip as he just… sees Doc continuing to stand there.

He said ‘let's go’, and Doc just fucking ignored it. Is he sightseeing or something?

This fucking zombie is stalling, isn’t it? Stalling cause it knows Grian is looking for his friends – Grian doesn’t know how it knows but it does, maybe some zombie-sense to bring misery in the worst ways possible, to crawl into his nightmares and release them for him to experience. It’s doing pretty well on that front isn’t it then?

The zombie takes a few more second stares at the road, which makes grians temper get worse- then turns around and walks back towards the van.

“We’re….” The zombie said as it opened the door, “We’re going left.” It stated, climbing in.

It placed its hands on the wheel, took a beat. “No, right.” It changed its mind and took another second. “Left. Driving left.”

“Jesus,” Grian said under his breath, before talking louder towards Doc. “Just go right.” He decided for Doc.

The zombie stared ahead once again taking all the time in the world, it glanced at Grian then back at the road. “We’re going left.”

Grian took a breath through his nose, it's as if the zombie is trying to infuriate him. “Left it is.” He said with a bite.

The van started moving, driving towards the two intersecting roads.

And Grian nearly screamed in frustration as they took a Right.

And he did. He isn’t one to hide his anger. “For fucks sake!” He shouted as they drove down the right road.  
“I changed my mind.” Doc simply said, with a simple fucking shrug.

“You did that to piss me off.”

“No, I didn’t.” Doc denied, its eyes not even glancing away from the road. Oh, now he's a responsible driver?  
“Yes, you fucking did-“ Grian continued, “Are you trying to make me angry?”  
“I don’t need to try for that.” Doc scoffed, eyes on the wheel, “How about you take a nap and calm down.” And it said it in such a tone as if Grian was just a kid having a temper tantrum.  
“Fuck you.” Grian spits out because honestly, he didn’t know what else to say. And in turn, he only got a half-smirk from the zombie.

And then there was silence.  
And the dream began anew.

The magma stopped boiling as it cascaded down the rockslide- each deep breath Grian took, it flowed down further into the river that was being created. He closes his eyes and thinks of Taurtis.

Blue.

Blue, the magma flows into the blue water and melts. 

They grew up together, and one of his fondest memories was one at the park. Him, Taurtis and another, on a hot summer's day having fun.

Grian leans back against the car seat and hears the laughter of his friends.

The sun was hot, they were young and the ice cream van just arrived at the park.  
Then it was race to get to their parents, for a coin or two- pushing each other away as they ran towards the adults, the other tumbling onto the grass as they laughed and shouted ‘unfair!’ running to catch up with green knees, a little bit hurt but the bruise will remind them and make the child laugh.  
Children laugh so easily.

Taurtis gets there first, then Grian and the third last.

They begged for money to the amused mothers and fathers, stealing quick glances at the van to see the line quickly becoming longer and longer by children who were better at pleading than them.  
Taurtis gets a coin first, his father quicker to take some spare change out of his wallet than the other parents. 

Grian watches Taurtis run to get ice-cream first, with a pout as his mom pats him on the head with a ‘you had ice-cream earlier’ and a tug on his cheek to match the just as hurtful, ‘we both know if you have too much ice-cream you won’t be able to sleep.’

Grian can only turn away and pout, planning to go and tumble off the highest and greenest hill in revenge, executing the plan ‘ruin his pretty brand new clothes’ .  
But he is stopped as the child is tapped on the shoulder by the other.  
“Want to come to my house Grian?” The bunny asks.  
Grian smiles and nods, “Sure- but what's wrong? Why do you need my to come to your tent?”  
The bunny just smiles, a hunter's knife at his hip and the same smile Grian knew from childhood adorned his friends face. Grian somehow felt comfort in that expression, even with all the zombies coming about, the three of them found eachother in the midst of it all. 

“Nothings wrong, the opposite actually. I found something cool I wanted to show you.”

The two began walking, Sam walked and walked as Grian followed, sinking further and further into the tar- the wound getting deeper and the betrayal ruining his pretty brand new clothes.  
Grian opened his eyes again, the magma turned into stone, covering the blue to be never seen again.

The rumble of the engine was everything Grian could hear as he watched the trees run past, he saw the comings of a dark cloud towards them. It was going to rain soon, the dark cloud was like a patch of mold upon the blue sky, coming slowly and steadily, it will reach its destination eventually, no rush. It will ruin someone's day one way or another.  
And Grians thought process already worried. Rain, rain is never good these days. And right now? Odds were not in his favour. Stuck in this … van. It's better to call it a piece of metal somehow driving around than a vehicle, it was old- the dials broken and it was on that field they took it from for god knows where. It's only luck it started anyway and let them get this far.  
But- But Grian doesn’t know how they will survive the night if the cloud gets to them, he wouldn’t put it past this car to leak if, under heavy pressure, he can only bite his nails as he imagines the water seeping through the cracks onto him; and maybe the zombie will be fine, it doesn’t seem too affected by anything but Grian is concerned for himself. And for once dreaded getting sick, he won’t be able to stay in bed for a few days and recover- he wouldn’t be able to get medicine to fight off the symptoms. He’s so scared of a cold, something so childish but it’s a sickness for a reason and in circumstances like these, it can't be anything less than deadly.

And the gas will run out eventually, they can only hope to find a house. Somewhere warm- but that’s a long shot anyway.

He doesn’t want to get sick, the thought to him alone is scary. God, it would be such an inconvenience, such as annoyance. If he just- defeated that zombie in that apartment he wouldn’t have to worry, if he was more careful- he could have stayed in his safe haven.

If he didn’t run away back then, then he wouldn’t worry about being sick; because he knew his group got him if they needed they can stay in one place for a few days as they rest and he heals.  
But now? It's an impossible gamble that he isn’t even sick yet he’s already scared of the possibility as he knows he won’t be able to rely on the other passenger in the car if it happens.  
And his own pride wouldn’t let him do that, nor his paranoia.

He looked back forward, maybe they can drive it out? Just miss the horrible omen? It was still light out, by evening they’ll be far away and it will be fine. Right now, he can only wait.  
“Is that a house?” The zombie suddenly said, leaning forward at the wheel- this made Grian also sit up in alert, doing the same as the zombie as he leaned forward to squint at the distance.

“Yeah- Yeah!” Grian nodded as he saw a farmhouse in the distance, lonely and by the road; he could make the size of it, brown and two stories with a big roof and a fence around it.  
Doc went quiet as he sat back, furrowing his eyebrow, “Should we stop there?”

Grian stopped too, thinking about it. It's obviously fenced off, it should be good to stay there for the night- maybe if lucky enough they’d find fuel for the car. On the other hand, there could be some inhabitants- zombies. But, there's two of them. They should be fine right?

“It won’t kill us to check it out,” Grian decided, “What's the worst that will happen?”

Doc laughed as he changed gears, “Don’t jinx us.”

Grian mustered up a smile at that.

As the car closed closer to the house, Doc slowed it down. Letting the two of them peer across the window- looking for a parking spot you can say. It was a large wooden house, two stories and made out of wood, vines were climbing the stone chimney from the side of the house- but Grian isn’t sure if that meant it's abandoned or it was a stylistic choice.  
And it was fenced off, a tall fence hid away the first floor and only allowed a sigh to the second floor to be seen. 

Doc stopped, leaned his head closer to the window, “I can’t see a driveway… Oh there we go-“ He murmured to himself as he looked at a gap in the fence, difficult to see due to the overgrowth though, the vines not only covering the chimney but most of the fence as well, this hinted at that no one maintained this house for a while.

Doc turned the car and drove through into the assumed driveway, an equal overgrown empty space- only old dirty tire tracks were an indication of ‘car here’, but still the tracks were surrounded with flowers and weeds.

The van stops, right before a closed garage- the door rusty and brown from age. Opening it would make noise that would awaken gods, Grian turns to unbuckle his belt as he hears an ‘ahem’ from beside him.

He glances at Doc to see him holding a knife… the sharp end is not turned towards Grian- although the blonde's heart did skip a beat at just the gesture. Doc nods at it and Grian takes the hint and quickly takes it. He immediately hated it. It felt wrong, it had the wrong weight, the wrong texture of the handle, the glint of the metal ominous instead of familiar. It was new, and it will take a while getting used too. 

But it was a weapon all the same, as long as it gets the job done. Grian holds onto the knife and places both his hand and weapon into his pocket as he hops out, Doc already gone shutting the door behind him, the zombie had its shotgun up at the ready as well. Grian was not going to get left behind and quickly made his way around the van to catch up.

“Do you want to split up-” Grian begins his question, a dumb one- and he sort of relieved to be interrupted as suddenly he gets pulled back by his jacket. Then there is a shine that blinds him for a split second, and the source of the light shows up itself- a knife at his throat as another body is pressed against his back.

“Don’t move or I’ll cut his throat.” His captor says a feminine, authoritative voice that he would love to see the owner off. But she isn’t even talking to him as the noose at his neck tightens, he gasps and raises his head a bit- trying his best to avoid the edge as she speaks to Doc- who already has his shotgun pointed towards them.  
His heartbeat loudly, akin to back then when he was trapped as zombies thundered behind a door- his heart beat into his stomach as his organ lowered down into his abdomen filling his hunger with just fear as his breath was caught between the ridges. 

Grian could only stare at Doc, a glare in the zombie's eye- ready to shoot the moment an opening shows.  
Although as he stares at the zombie, he doesn’t know how careful he will be.  
And Grian begins to be closely aware of the fact that, as Doc pulls the trigger his brains might be blown out alongside the assailants.  
He can only suppress a gulp, one wrong move can either mean his head having an extra hole or his neck an extra scar.

The blonde can’t even read the zombies expression, only the furrow of the eyebrow of the one seen eye was discernible. The sun shadowed the rest of Doc, the sun setting behind the tall man- successfully creating only a shadow where the monster's face was as the sun barely highlighted the outer lines of his coat and bandage. 

He truly looked terrifying. 

“Put the weapon down.” She said again and Grian audibly hissed as the metal made further contact with his neck- feeling the sharp pressure grazing his skin.  
There was not a sign of compliance from Doc. He took another step towards them, the grass underneath his boots almost cowering away as it was stepped on- in this silence the single step forward felt to rumble the earth like a god awakening from its slumber.

“She said.” A new voice entered the scene, out of view of Grian with a drawl- the sound of a bullet loading into a chamber echoed throughout the countryside. The world was waiting with a held breath as the situation escalated. “Put the weapon down.” 

Doc froze suddenly, they must have a gun to his back to make him stop like that- with a huff and low growl; akin to a wolf - Doc raised his hands, then admitted defeat by leaning left and letting go of the shotgun as it fell onto the green grass.

It disappeared from sight so quickly, the tall, overgrown grass hid the weapon away as it sank down onto the plant. It sank like all Grians hopes of rescue.  
“Good.” The voice approved. “Now put your hands on your head and no one gets hurt.”

Doc stayed still, and then locked both of their gazes together. It was deadpan, violent, a gaze that cut through hearts and Grian hoped it wasn’t his heart that was going to be eaten.  
He heard a bird sing, one with a coarse voice nothing like the soft voices of the doves in the mornings. It was harsh and full and it was like a bell that locked down the date of the execution. The crow croaked as Doc raised his hands behind his head and kneeled down onto the grass.

Defenceless, ready to be eaten.

And with Doc on his knees, Grian could see the person who managed to dig down a mountain.  
A tall, pale man stood. Brown shaggy hair and thick glasses aining a hunting rifle at Docs head. The hunter becomes the prey. 

His features were just as emotionless, just as away from reality as Docs. The glasses shined through the blinks of light they got, creating an unfamiliar shade from the eyes of the man a white glass like a wall creating more and more unease in Grians heart.

The woman with the knife seemed to relax too, clearly, the threat was Doc not him. But Grian didn’t worry about that matter too long as he tensed up as he heard a loud bang.  
Grian stared in shock as he watched Doc fall, the body slumping forward onto the grass with an even larger thump- the sound scaring the coarse birds to fly away. For once Grian would like to really be a bird, to be able to run right now. Grian felt that Doc was indestructible, a force to be reckoned with- and yet. Here he is, laying still before them as Grian is now outnumbered.

“You- You-” Grian started, finally being able to talk, as if the shock of Doc falling brought him out of his fear, making him now able to muster up words.

“He’s not dead.” The southern accent assured him in a non-affectionate tone, “Just unconscious.” Grian could now see that the man was now holding the butt end of the rifle. Not easing Grians worries, but at least he knows they aren't going to kill anyone.  
Yet.

“What-” Grian tried to reason with, with them, with himself. What does he even say in this situation? “What do you want?!” Grian demanded, barking and lashing out as he felt cornered in fear. They might kill him but they could very well hurt him, - he can’t die again from a knife. He can’t bleed out from the weapon again, this time there wouldn’t be anyone to revive him.

There isn’t anyone to protect him this time. Even as he was scared, frightened, angry at Doc. He didn’t even consider the possibility of him getting bested, even a few days in his company gave Grian that impression. Was it because Doc was not human? Because he was walking, speaking zombie? But zombies were humans once, so that means Doc was once as well. And zombies become weaker after they turn.

Doc was no exception.

And now Grian has a knife to his throat.

“What we want?” The woman scoffed at his question, “What WE want? You barged in here! What do you want from US?!” She demanded as he got pulled back, the knife dangerously close and his eyes dangerously close to tears. Grian could only watch through terrifying eyes as the bespectacled man walked around Doc to investigate him, using the barrel of his rifle to place it under Docs chin, raising his head ever so slightly. Like a hunter examining his kill for quality. 

He’s going to know, he’s going to know Doc is a zombie- Grians head was rining as the woman continued to shout into his ear. “Who are you! What did you come here for?!” she screeched in defense.

But right now, Grian was occupied with watching the expression of the man- whose smug face turned to one of fear, to confusion- and when he looked at Grian. To Disgust.

“You’re travelling with a fucking zombie?” For some reason, the swear didn’t suit the man's voice.

Grian was lost for words, what does he say in this kind of situation?

Fucking Doc. Getting caught, he had one fucking job.

“So fucking what-” Grian started his response before getting interrupted by his kidnapper. “What the fuck!?” She said what they were thinking, the statement loud as she peered over Grians shoulder to see what her friend seen- Grian could see red hair as she leaned back.

“Were you.. Were you going to infect us? Was that your plan?” The man accuses, “You-”

“No!” Grian tries to deny it, infect them?! “We didn’t even know you were here!”

“Bullshit!” The man replies, stepping towards Grian. And within the second the bespectacled man grabbed Grians face sharply with his gloved hand. “Why are you here, and don’t fucking lie.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Grian barks, not even caring anymore. The two have him surrounded completely, body to body to body as he screams into the mans face as he talks louder and louder even with his head forced to look at the other. “If you would just stop jumping to fucking conclussions and-”

“YOU GOT A FUCKING ZOMBIE HERE. IT HAD A GUN. YOU WERE GOING TO KILL US!” The man didn’t hesitate to shout back, clearly stressed at this sudden development. The raised voice didn’t suit the man, Grian for some reason felt this in his soul.

“WE DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HERE! WE WANTED TO STOP AND REST-” If he could, Grian would lean in and bite the mans nose off. But he sufficed in raising his own voice to match the anger of the other. 

“AT THIS RANDOM HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?!”

“WE WERE DESPERATE!!”

He felt like a dog on a leash, the owner desperately holding him back before biting into the bigger dog- before he picks a fight that he won’t win. But alas, he barks and growls as the two continue their screaming match. 

Grian needed to defend himself, to somehow get out of this- to somehow get himself out and safe. At first he thought he could strike up a deal with them, but his anger came out way more easily- the magma bubbled as the bird screeched more and more. He needed to fly away, but his wings were held closed and no one is there to help him out. 

He needs to get out.

He- god. Doc.

Doc is still unconscious. How is he going to get out of this?

“SHUT UP!”

And with that, the two went quiet. The ‘shut up’ wasn’t even louder than what the two were already shouting, it was quiet even. But it still shut them up like intended.

And in the now silence, the stage was hers and her voice boomed over them. “JUST- SHUT UP! THIS ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE.”

Its true it wasn’t, and the reckoning truth in the silence gave Grian the opportunity to catch his breath. The screaming exhausted him, and he was just tired. He was desperate and still had the unwavering knife at his throat. If he was any braver he would have thrown his head back now, attempt to push her back- escape.

Run.

But he won’t. He can, he could have ran away from Doc back then if not for that hole. 

But he can’t.

They were human, and that fact itself forced his leg to escape back into the tar. Humans are much scarier and merciless than zombies.

“Let me go- we aren’t-” Grian pleaded.

“Didn’t I JUST say-'' The blonde's hair was suddenly pulled back as she used her other hand to pull onto his hair- he responded with a yelp as he raised his hands instinctively to stop her. “SHUT UP!”

And then, he was being pushed forward- the bespeclated man merely stepped away as Grian was thrown onto the ground. And like the pathetic creature he was, he tried to stand back up- pushing himself up through the mud he fell back down, face first as a boot was forced onto his head. He closed one of his eyes so the dirt wouldn’t get in- but tears were already flowing. From the dirt in his eyes of course, no other reason. 

Even as he attempted to thrash around, another set of legs came down to bruise his knees and keep him down. 

With tire, he slowed down- letting himself look beside him. Seeing the sleeping Doc through his squinted eyes, even with the green- the zombies face was quite peaceful. Eye closed, agape mouth and he seemed human. He hasn’t slept has he? Doc, that is. Grian is sure he didn’t sleep in the van, and he was driving the rest of the time. 

At least he’ll get some rest now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry crisis


End file.
